The Door by the Garden, 2018
We strip out of our hides and run wild.
Wet and bare skin rubbing against one another.
We devour ourselves and each other.
Our pelts, abandoned and willfully discarded, hang from the ceiling.
Eat us, eat from us.
They enter through the exit and run out through the entrance.
Water floods the tunnel where nothing grows.
This water that does not wash.
Let me have you, let me eat you.
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